


Someone In A Tree

by EA_Lakambini



Series: ASW Collection [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddles, Established Relationship, Fluff, I just want them to be so happy together okay, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Cuddles, Snuddles?, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EA_Lakambini/pseuds/EA_Lakambini
Summary: Just a small affectionate moment in a garden, in a cottage in the South Downs.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ASW Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083698
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Someone In A Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Currently challenging myself to write relatively shorter stories, at around 500 - 1,000 words.  
> This is also my 30th story in this fandom, and my 30th story written in 2020! :) It's been a difficult year but being a part of this amazing fandom has made everything so much more bearable.
> 
> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> The title and some of the lines in the story are drawn from "Someone in a Tree", from Stephen Sondheim's "Pacific Overtures".
> 
> Inspired by [A Softer World No. 429: _I want us to gerund, essentially._](https://asofterworld.com/index.php?id=429)

While Aziraphale does most reading in his library in the cottage, he finds that it is surprisingly relaxing to read in the garden too. So he settles himself on the cushioned swing hanging between two sturdy apple trees there. The air is cool, and the sun is not too bright. Aziraphale takes a sip of tea, then carefully sets down the cup on the grass near his feet. It really is quite a nice day.

The swing is a decently well-constructed thing - Crowley had built it, and had proudly presented it to him: the patient work of demonic hands making a gift in the human way for a change. Just another one of the changes in their new life. Aziraphale idly wonders where his demon is, then decides to settle down with his book first and look for him later. Anyway, Crowley is always near. Another wonderful change.

Aziraphale is just getting to an interesting bit in the plot of his book, when a shadow suddenly moves across the top of the pages; something - or  _ someone _ \- is interrupting the sunlight filtering through the leafy branches. He hears the leaves rustle above him, rather deliberately, instead of the gentle manner that the wind had been earlier.

“Crowley, my dear, how long have you been up there?”

A soft hiss, more rustling, and then - “Not long, angel. Wasss a nice place for a nap.”

Aziraphale chuckles, closing his book and then looking up to catch a glimpse of his beloved. He is pleased that Crowley feels comfortable enough to be in his other form while around him. He has never openly admitted it - and perhaps that should be something he should change - but he has always found Crowley’s snake form awe-inspiring. He had, when he first saw him in Eden, and that feeling had not dissipated with the passage of millenia.

The sunbeams are in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he squints through the pinpricks of light as he searches for a hint of darkness among the foliage. “It does look pleasant, but maybe you would be more comfortable lower in the tree? The sun might be too hot for you up there,” Aziraphale comments.

He hears the subtle shift of serpentine muscle, the soft rasp of scales against bark as Crowley begins winding his way down to the main trunk. “Are you trying to tempt me to come down, even make me fall, perhapsss?” Crowley teases, and Aziraphale laughs. He takes another drink of tea, just enjoying the conversation. While he loves Crowley’s usually suave and velvety tones, his voice in this form is softer, almost like silk.

“Not at all, darling; I suppose the view there is much nicer. You can see the coast, I imagine?” Aziraphale inhales slowly, taking in the slightly salty tang from the sea breeze, mingling with the scent of damp earth from the garden. He exhales in a contented sigh, and above him, he can hear Crowley coming closer. 

“I don’t sssee much from up here, not much of a view,” Crowley says slowly. “Jussst the leaves and the branches, and the gold of your hair. But that last one is nice.”

Aziraphale tilts his head further back, and now he sees the long stretch of shining black scales curving round the tree branches, just a flash of red underbelly. Bright yellow eyes, now gazing down at him.

He must look distant, because then Crowley asks, “What’sss on your mind, Aziraphale?”

“I cannot help but notice we are… sitting-in-a-tree,” Aziraphale says, the last words all in a rush. Crowley tilts his head, forked tongue flicking out curiously.

“So, you know, maybe we could think of something to do, verb-wise.” Aziraphale presses on, trying not to laugh.

Crowley slithers down from the lower branch and across Aziraphale’s shoulders, settling his coils comfortably. “You’re technically not  _ in _ the tree, angel,” he hisses teasingly. “But I sssuppossse I can look passst that.” Soon, Aziraphale feels the hint of a tickle from a forked tongue, flicking lightly at his cheek. Aziraphale turns his head to place an affectionate kiss on Crowley’s snout, laughing at the demon’s surprised hissing. Crowley rears back slightly, looping more of his coils around Aziraphale, then slithers forward to nuzzle his head against Aziraphale’s hair.

With a soft  _ whoosh,  _ the cool serpentine coils are replaced by gentle arms, a lean yet firm chest, and a tender press of lips against his forehead. Aziraphale eagerly leans into the warm embrace. He then moves his head to meet his beloved’s in a proper kiss, raising a hand to caress Crowley’s cheek.

“I didn’t think you were fond of nursery rhymes, angel,” Crowley says upon pulling away. He gently twines his fingers into the soft dandelion-fluff of Aziraphale’s hair. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I loved you before I ever k-i-s-s-e-d you,” he continues, enunciating the letters mockingly, but Aziraphale feels his heart grow warm at the affection in Crowley’s voice, the passion behind the seemingly casual proclamation.

“No one said we had to follow the order of that silly rhyme,” Aziraphale replies. “But I  _ am _ pleased that the marriage part did not have to wait so long as the kissing part, love.” He fondly strokes the simple metal band on Crowley’s finger, before placing a soft kiss on his hand.

Crowley simply smiles back and draws Aziraphale closer to him; Aziraphale once again picks up his cup of tea and extends it to Crowley to share. And Aziraphale marvels at how well they fit into each other, how this mysterious 6,000-year journey has brought them to their own side, and how he would not exchange this for anything that Above and Below could offer.

It’s only a small fragment of the day; there are still so many hours left. Aziraphale intends to make the most out of them: these small mysteries, and cups of tea, and shared history. And so he gathers his husband in his arms, under the tree, and together they choose what verbs to share next.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever tire of writing these two just being soft and affectionate? Not likely.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by!


End file.
